Remake Me
by JensenAckles13
Summary: Tony Stark was captured by Asgard years ago, molded into the perfect slave. With no memories of his past life, he serves as Odin's personal slave and the occasional unwilling bed mate. And then one day, he discovers he has magic, only to be used when no one is watching. Until, one day, someone is watching. Someone with piercing green eyes and a golden collar round his throat.


Tony silently gazed at his fingertips, watching as golden flames danced across the palm of his right hand. He shouldn't be doing this, he knew. But ever since he'd discovered his aptitude for magic, he'd been attempting it whenever he could.

The first time he'd done it had earned him a severe whipping; it had been in his master's presence, killing one of his personal guards. It had been purely by accident, of course, but the word 'accident' didn't mean much to his master these days. Perhaps it never had. It had been nearly three weeks ago; the guard had forced him down to his knees and told him to suck, the fingers of his free hand unlacing his pants while Odin watched with sadistic glee at seeing someone made so low. Tony still wasn't entirely sure what happened; he'd envisioned the guard impaled with his own sword, prayed for it to happen even though he knew it was damn well impossible and then- and then it wasn't as impossible as he'd thought as the guards sword pulled itself from his grasp and shoved itself through the guards chest plate, piercing his heart and killing him almost instantly. Odin had shouted something that Tony had been unable to understand before he found himself shirtless in his master's personal dungeon, a thick leather whip being brought down on his back over and over again until he passed out.  
Regaining consciousness had been a pain, quite literally, and he hadn't been able to stand for three days after the ordeal. Oddly enough, Asgard's King (and his master) had allowed him those three days to recuperate before ordering him back one night to clean up after dinner in his personal chambers. Almost immediately after Tony had finished cleaning, Odin had dumped a small bowl of red berries onto the floor and ordered him to eat them all and then lick the juice from the ground- he wasn't allowed his hands.  
It was a simple message, really: you are mine and I can do with you whatever I please.  
Tony had learned that one long ago, so really, it was an empty message.

So here he was now, praying he wouldn't be caught. It seemed he did a lot of that lately; praying. To which god, he would never know…..just one that would finally listen, perhaps. Using magic always ignited delicious warmth in him, allowing him a way to finally escape the horrors of the only reality he'd ever known. Sometimes, whenever he worked with fire, silvery-blue sparks would randomly dance in with the gold, glowing the same color as the strange glowing circle in his chest (he'd always thought it was odd- no one else he'd seen on Asgard had such a thing, only him).

Tony didn't hear the stranger approach; the other's footsteps were silent, it would've been impossible to. But he certainly heard him speak.

"My, my. I hadn't expected to see you here," the smooth voice drawled.  
Tony didn't have time to think; he simply dropped to his knees, let go of the thread of magic, folded his hands in his lap and kept his eyes on the ground.

"Apologies, sire," he murmured, sitting stock still even as the stranger's boots came into focus. The stranger knelt down, his hand reaching towards Tony's face and Tony couldn't help but flinch. The long fingered, pale hand paused before continuing on its path, slowly this time, as if not to frighten him. Gentle fingers curled around his jaw and tilted his head carefully up until he found himself staring into ungodly green eyes, reminding him no small amount of emeralds. Jet black hair framed the god's face, falling just past his shoulders in soft waves. Dark brows were tilted down in a slight frown, which tugged at the corners of the other's tightly pressed lips.  
What stood out most, however, was not the piercing eyes but the golden collar wound around delicately around the other's slim neck. It was intricately decorated, the strands of thin metal intertwining with each other. Runes flowed elegantly into each other, but Tony was fairly certain it wasn't something the stranger wore for decoration.

"What is your name?" the other asked in a soft voice, as if speaking to a frightened animal.

"Tony, sire," he replied instantly. No hesitation, no emotion: just as he was taught.

"What is your last name, Tony?"

Tony planned to reply, he truly did. He opened his mouth, prepared to speak his last name...before realizing he hadn't a clue. He supposed he'd had one at some point. The realization that he'd be unable to answer the question sent a jolt of fear through him. His eyes widened ever so slightly, his heart thudded painfully in his chest and he had to knot his fingers together to prevent the trembling in them from being seen.  
Taking a steadying breath, he forced himself to remain calm, letting all outward emotion trail right back inward where it belonged.

"I am unsure, sire."  
Still unable to look away from the searing eyes, he knew that the god had seen his reaction and, worse, was troubled by it. That could only mean something terrible would happen to him.  
"A-apologies, sire," he whispered and mentally flinched at the weakness his voice portrayed.

"Do not apologize," the god said, smiling a very small, very tired smile. "Come. You look cold." The god rested a gentle hand against the small of Tony's back, making him whimper as the still healing flesh from the whipping was jostled. The kind stranger's frown deepened but he said nothing, instead taking Tony's hand and carefully tugging him to his feet.

"I- I cannot leave. My master will be displeased." He'd learned long since that Odin hated being referred to as 'angry'.

"I can deal with him myself, Tony. Fret not," the god said with a grim smile. Tony simply nodded, not wishing to argue with the god who was being kind enough to help.

With a simple wave of the stranger's hand and a brief green glow, a large fur blanket appeared in his hands. He carefully wrapped it around Tony's shoulders, mindful of his injured back, and began leading him from the dining room while Tony burrowed into the blanket and kept his eyes down.  
Fear caused his heart to thud painfully in his chest: what would Odin do when he found out Tony had left without asking permission? He would be angry, there was no doubt about that. Another whipping, perhaps worse than the one he'd already gotten. No, perhaps didn't belong there. It would be worse than the one he'd already gotten. But gods, who was Tony to ignore the orders of a god? He was just a lowly mortal; a pet was what his master often referred to him as. His rightful place was kneeling at someone's feet. Why wasn't he there now? There were so many questions running through his mind, it made his head hurt.

He kept his eyes on the ground and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, not daring look at the kind stranger. He was sure he would get hit if he looked into the stranger's eyes again anyways.

He wasn't quite sure where he was led, but they eventually made it to a door with guards posted in front of it. Tony immediately stiffened upon seeing their golden boots; they were force to a standstill when the guards drew their swords in warning.

"What's this one doing out of the AllFather's chambers?" one asked, poking his sword in Tony's direction. Tony flinched away from the sharpened blade, hoping today wouldn't be the day he died. Though perhaps it would be a better alternative than his master's wrath once he'd found out Tony was gone.

"You dare question your prince?" the stranger asked the guards, sounding extremely unimpressed and borderline murderous.

"Fallen prince," the guard corrected. "You are no prince of mine. It belongs back at its master's feet," he continued, tapping his sword against Tony's hip. Tony flinched again, but couldn't help but agree.

"He does not belong at anyone's feet, let alone that pig you call a King," the stranger sneered angrily. "Now move or I will not be responsible for anyone being unable to find your body." The stranger's fingertips were beginning to glow a deep emerald green. The guard paused for a moment before stepping aside with clear reluctance.  
The stranger pushed open the door on his own, something Tony was already moving to do, and motioned Tony inside.  
Tony took a step to move through the doorway, but at some point the guards foot had made its way in front of Tony's, causing him to trip and wobble before falling to the ground, his knees hitting the marble flooring with a painful crack. He didn't react though; he simple scrambled to his feet and hurried through the doorway while the guard snickered to himself. The laughing cut off abruptly, shortly followed instead by a gasp of pain and the dull thud of something (a body, Tony presumed) hitting the floor. No matter how curious he was, Tony didn't dare ask. It wasn't his place. He simply stood in the middle of whatever room they were in, still clutching the blanket to keep it on, his head tilted downward and his eyes on his feet. The familiar boots of the stranger came into his view before those same gentle, long fingers gripped his jaw lightly and turned his eyes up to the poison green ones of the god once more.

"You needn't fear me, Tony."

The other spoke so gently, Tony almost believed him.

"Then I will not, sire."

"You do not have to lie to me. I can hardly blame you for your fear," the stranger said in that same gentle voice of his. "You are cold still," he said absently, seeming to notice Tony's shivering.  
Without a word, the stranger lit a fire in the fireplace with a simple snap of his fingers, and led Tony over to it. There was a chair placed at an angle just off to the right of the fireplace. Tony immediately knelt at his place beside it, folding his hands in his lap and taking in the wonderful warmth, letting the blanket pool around his waist.

"Tony," the man said quietly. "The chair is for you."  
Tony moved his eyes up to the stranger in shock, unable to help himself. A chair? Slaves didn't get chairs. They got the cold, hard floor and sometimes, if they were lucky, soft, plush carpet. But a chair? Even more so, something that would put himself up at the other's level? It was beyond frightening; would this new stranger punish him for taking the chair? Or punish him if he didn't?  
Deciding to play it as safe as he possibly could, he slowly moved himself up to the chair, perched stiffly on the edge. Darting his eyes up to the god to see if what he had done was alright, he was greeting with a smile, so true and soft that Tony couldn't help but relax, even if it was only enough that his shoulder's were slumped slightly rather than held back as his master had made sure he'd always done.

"Much better than the floor, isn't it?" the god asked softly and Tony nodded.

"It is, sire. Thank you."

"For allowing you to sit in the chair?" the other asked in slight confusion.

"Yes," he replied, nodding his confirmation.

"You needn't thank me for that," the god said, amusement in his voice. "It is simply a chair."  
Tony nodded, but oh, it was so much more than that. It was a step towards being a person again, if that was something he'd ever get to be. If that was something he'd ever deserve to be. But, as of now, he did not. So he remained calm and quiet as he sat, his hands folded neatly in his lap and his eyes on the floor, away from the stranger's intense gaze.

"Are you hungry?" the stranger asked after a moment of tense silence and Tony jerked in surprise.

"I…suppose I am, sire. But you needn't go to the trouble of finding me food if it is inconvenient to you."

"No…it's quite alright. I shall find you something." Tony could practically hear the frown in the god's voice and he wondered silently what he'd done to make that look appear on the other's face. He could feel the god's eyes boring into the back of his head, watching him closely just as everyone else had, as if he were a criminal of some sort. But the air in the room wasn't as tense or troublesome as it should have been. In fact, it was rather…calm. Tony was fairly certain the man was concerned, and that was….new. Odd.  
A moment later, Tony heard the gentle whisper of the other's boots on the ground as he walked out.

Tony remained sitting quietly where he was, staring into the flames in the large golden fireplace. He only looked around when he was sure the stranger was gone.  
Tilting his head up, slowly, in case the other returned, he let his gaze wander around the room: it was large, perhaps even overly so. On one side of the elegant room (Tony assumed it was a bedroom), there were large doors that led to a balcony outside, letting the starlight shine into the room. On the opposite wall to the left, there was a bed that could easily fit four people with a very soft looking, deep emerald coverlet, golden sheets folded delicately over, and intricately crafted golden pillows for décor with the same deep emerald stitched in lovely patterns around the fabric of the pillows. A faintly golden, shimmering canopy fell elegantly to either side of the bed, giving it a very royal and regal look. There was a bathroom back towards the door they had come in and another closed door beside that one that Tony assumed was a closet. Aside from the bookshelves with the few, simple trinkets perched on them, the room looked as if it was hardly ever used. Dust had collected over the rows of books and the trinkets: in fact, it looked as if someone had just begun using the bedroom again today after a long period of absence.

Shaking his head, Tony gazed down at his hands, now resting palms up on his thighs, and pulled gently on a strand of magic resting close to the forefront of his mind: it was golden strand, sometimes changing to the same, odd silver-blue of the thing in his chest, comfortable from use. He maneuvered and twisted until the strand was where he needed it to be and he let golden and silver-blue flames dance across his fingertips, sinking into the comfort he'd found long ago while using magic; it was an excellent way to escape the harsh realities he was living, even better if he wished to lose himself- this was the best way to do it. It was strangely comforting, the feel of warmth at his fingertips, the light that could so easily banish any darkness that had been closing in, the way his entire being felt lighter whenever he used magic like this. It was a delicious safe haven, one of the few things he had left that made him feel safe…a safety blanket, if you please.  
It, much like the odd light in his chest, gave a feeling of peace while still remaining grounded.

He froze when he heard gentle footsteps. They broke him out of his haze and he immediately let go of the strand, closing his palms to extinguish the flames completely.

"Please," the stranger said in a soft voice. "You needn't stop on my account."

"Apologies, sire," Tony breathed out, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. His master had taught him long ago that magic was a sin, not to be used or even attempted. The promise of a painful, slow death still wasn't enough to stop him from doing it…in private, of course. But he'd been caught. What if this got him his death? What if this was what finally pushed someone over that edge? He could be executed now. And it wouldn't be easy, oh no. It would be something terribly painful and terribly slow. He'd been caught with fire; burned at the stake, perhaps? Tony was sure his master wouldn't hesitate to do that.

He didn't realize he'd been hyperventilating until he felt gentle fingers carding through his hair and heard a soft voice telling him to breathe; it was oddly comforting, almost as much as the light in his chest or his magic. Perhaps even more so. No one had touched him with a gentle hand or graced him with a gentle word in such a long time…it was foreign now.  
Shaking his head without realizing because he knew he didn't deserve it, deserve this, the comfort and the kindness and whatever else the stranger offered him, he pulled carefully away from the god. When his hand moved from Tony's hair to his face, Tony flinched, preparing for a strike that was sure to come now that he had purposely ignored something his new ma- this new stranger had given to him in a gift of kindness, he was surprised to see the hand pause and then drop into the strangers lap.

"Here," the god said instead, settling a bowl of something hot and something that smelled absolutely delicious in Tony's lap. "Soup. Volstagg just made it…though he did make plenty, so I'm sure he won't miss one bowlful." The stranger gave a kind smile, which Tony could only see because he was avoiding the strangers green gaze, before standing and walking over to the door beside the bathroom and sliding it open before walking inside.  
Unsure if he was actually allowed to eat it, Tony slowly took a small spoonful- and oh, it was absolutely Heavenly. Some sort of meat and vegetable soup with a rich, salty flavored broth.  
He ate quickly after that, finishing nearly half the bowl before the stranger had even come out of the closet. Unfortunately, however, he quickly realized he'd eaten too much. His stomach was already beginning to cramp in protest.  
Gazing at the stranger's newly loafer fitted feet (he'd likely changed into something more comfortable- strange that he didn't ask Tony to undress and redress him) he debated with himself for a few moments. If he asked to be done, there were only two options: one, the stranger allowed him to be done or two, Tony would get a severe beating for not finishing what was given so kindly to him.  
His heart pounding and his hands trembling around the warm bowl, he asked haltingly;

"S-sire?"

The kind stranger moved over towards him.

"Yes?" the other said softly.

"Is it- is it alright if I am finished?"

A length pause followed and fear caused a shiver to roll down Tony's spine. Oh, he'd asked the wrong question. He most certainly had. Feeling his breathing speed up again, he began eating the soup as fast as he could, lest he get a beating and this be his last meal for the next three days for his blatant ungratefulness.  
Those long, cool fingers curled gently around the hand he held the spoon with, still halfway to his mouth and Tony froze, staring in terror at the stranger's hand- at his strong hand. The strong hand that could cause quite a bit of pain if it wanted to.

"It's quite alright, dear Tony," the man said softly. "I simply thought you would eat more, though I should have known you would not have been able to. Of course you can be done- let me just take your bowl for you." Carefully, the stranger did as he said he would and took the bowl, setting it on a nearby table. "There now. Would you like some rest? You look tired."  
And Tony certainly was tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept…had it been four nights ago? Or maybe a week? His master had forced him to work long, long hours after his…display with magic and the dead guard, likely to exhaust him so he would no longer wish to use his magic.

"If it is alright with you, sire," Tony replied, head ducking respectfully, hands folding themselves in his lap automatically.

"Of course it is," the god said with a smile in his voice before proceeding to stand and beckoning Tony after him. He lead Tony over to the bed and Tony frowned at it in confusion for a moment before understanding dawned on him.

"You wish to bed me, sire?" he asked quietly, knowing the answer he would get, knowing he wouldn't be able to walk in the morning, knowing he would wake cold and bruised and hurting and alone. Knowing-

"By the Norns, no," the god said, sounding genuinely shocked and saddened that Tony thought this. "No, you can sleep here if you wish."

That finally caught his attention. Tony gaped at the kind stranger in utter shock.

"I- I can?" he stuttered. The stranger nodded.

"Of course." He smiled encouragingly. "Go on," he said with wave to the bed.  
Tony slowly crawled into the bed, scared it was a trick but praying to anyone who would listen that it was not.  
He was fully beneath the covers when the god spoke again.

"Is it comfortable? I could get you more blankets if you'd like…"

"Thank you, sire. This is perfect." And for once, there wasn't even a hint of a lie.  
The stranger smiled again as Tony snuggled into the bed, curled up in one corner of it, afraid to take up too much space lest the god wish to join him.

"Of course. Oh, and you must stop with all this 'sire' business. You can just call me Loki," the god- Loki- said with a kind smile.  
Tony yawned and nodded his confirmation.  
He'd heard that name before…Loki. He'd supposedly attacked Midgard at some point with an army of Chituari at his disposal, using the Tesseract to open a portal- now, Tony wasn't sure what the Chituari were or what the Tesseract was, but apparently they were both very powerful.  
Tony opted against asking. It would be out of his place to do so.

"Of course, si- Loki…"

"Good. Now sleep, Tony."  
So Tony did, closing his eyes and drifting off almost immediately.  
It was the best sleep he'd had in years.  
And Loki, the god who'd saved him, had given it to him.


End file.
